


The Great Hunt

by vandevere



Category: Law & Order, The X-Files
Genre: Central Park killings, Gen, Sidhe in Manhattan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandevere/pseuds/vandevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Life in Purgatory".  Jack McCoy begins his term of Community Service.  Also starring James Smith and Willard Tappan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Augustus, “Gus” Hogan, Director of Newman Halfway House, was expecting a new resident today; one that required some careful thought in placement.

Two beds were available.  But in each case, the new resident-John James McCoy-would have to share the room with men he had come into contact with before, back when he had been Executive Assistant DA for Adam Schiff.

One was James Smith.  The other was Willard Tappan.  Hogan had sounded out both men carefully, to see what their personal thoughts on McCoy were.

Apparently, James Smith felt nothing but gratitude for McCoy.

_He saved my life,_ the man had said.

So…at least there was one man here who felt no ill will for an ex-DA…

 

…..

Jack McCoy looked at the building that was to be his home for the next few years…

Sally Bell was by his side, as were Dr. Emil Skoda, and Claire Kincaid; and it felt…good…to know he was so loved.

It frightened him too.

Everyone met in Gus Hogan’s office; including a surprise.

James Smith…

“Hello, Jack.”

McCoy stared at the man.

“Only two rooms are free, Mr. McCoy,” Hogan said.  “You had a choice of bunking with Mr. Smith or Willard Tappan.  I reviewed your history and figured you would prefer bunking with Mr. Smith.”

McCoy blinked.  His memory of that particular time was kind of hazy.  He’d had his breakdown around then.

Willard Tappan…

McCoy dimly remembered the Kapinski Case. 

He had convinced John Curren to plead guilty so the case against Tappan could proceed.

_Then, I had the breakdown…_

So Curren went to prison, and Tappan hadn’t. 

Tappan was still here, at the halfway house, doing community service for the embezzlement, but free and clear of Kapinski’s murder.

“Yeah…” he looked over to Smith.  “I would prefer the company of James Smith over Willard Tappan any day.”

“All right,” Hogan nodded.  “James, take Mr. McCoy down to Admissions, get him acclimated to his new surroundings.  I’ll be along after I’ve spoken with Dr. Skoda and Miss Kincaid.”

McCoy let Smith guide him down to Admissions, stayed with him while he got a new ankle bracelet.  Then, he was given pillows and blankets, and followed James Smith down to the bedroom.

All in all, it was nicer than he expected it would be; the beds were comfortable, and apparently inmates were allowed to add personal touches to their living spaces.  There was a colorful quilt on Smith’s bed.

McCoy quickly made his bed, then sat down on it.  He felt just a little lost.

Smith apparently caught that.

“Lunch will be in an hour or so,” he said.  “We’ll introduce you to everyone then.”

McCoy nodded.

“Frightened?” Smith asked.

That brought McCoy up short.

_Frightened?_

“Yeah…I guess…” he finally admitted.

He felt Smith lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry…Jack.  You’ll be fine.”

 

…..

Gus Hogan listened as Dr. Emil Skoda described Jack McCoy’s mental health issues; the nightmares, the panic attacks, and the migraines….

“We’ll see that he takes his meds,” Hogan assured him.

“No need to worry on that score, Director,” Skoda said.  “Jack’s very compliant when it comes to taking his meds.  Apart from that, what will he be doing for Community Service?”

“Working at Central Park mostly,” Hogan shrugged.  “It will be good for him to get outside.”

“Picking up trash…” Claire Kincaid grumbled.

“I know, Claire,” Skoda patted her shoulder.  “But this will be good for him.  Easy work as he tries to pull himself together.”

“Also,” Hogan spoke up.  “Weekly sessions with Dr. Skoda have been arranged for.  The emphasis will be on recovery and rehabilitation; not punishment.  Eventually, it is hoped Mr. McCoy will make a complete recovery, and be able to rejoin the community he was originally part of.”

Hogan certainly hoped so.  Before his illness, before his faked death, Jack McCoy had become a legend in the legal community.

_This_ was a terrible waste of a great mind and soul…

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder in Central Park

_Central Park_

Detective Ed Green strode up to the site, followed by Detective Mike Logan.

_A murder victim and an assault victim…_

When they made it over to where the body lay, Ed Green had difficulty believing what he was seeing.

“What the hell is… _that_?”

Ed Green stared down at the body

The murder victim looked like…

A troglodyte.

Clad in what looked like leather, an arrow protruded from its chest.  Lank blondish hair straggled over blue-gray eyes that stared sightlessly up at the overcast sky.

_Someone shot this…thing…with a bow._

The M.E. smiled apologetically.

“Don’t ask me what he is…”

“He?” Green asked.

“Yep,” the M.E. nodded.  “Definitely male.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was a Neanderthal.”

“Cro Magnon?”

“Nah…that’s us.” The M.E. grinned as he closed the body bag.  “Liz is gonna love trying to figure this guy out.”

“There was an assault victim too?”

“Yeah…one of the trash picker-uppers,” the M.E. nodded over to the right.  “EMTs are working on him now.”

Logan nodded, and made his way over to where the EMTS were working on the victim, Green hurrying to catch up.  Logan stopped dead, staring at the EMTs, and the victim they were working on.

“Can’t he ever catch a fucking break?” the detective murmured.

“Mike?” Ed Green laid a hand on Logan’s arm.

“It’s Jack McCoy,” the older detective said, staring down at the victim.

McCoy was alive, but it looked like someone had done their level best to bash his skull in.

The right side of his face was already bruised, blood smearing down the right side of his head, and from his nose.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” one of the EMTs said as he pressed gauze to the bloody wound to the side of McCoy’s head, and bound it up with a bandage.  He continued to speak.

“He’s gonna need stitches for sure, and the docs will probably want to keep him overnight.  He’s concussed.  But that’s about it.”

Logan nodded.

“I’ll have to call the Halfway House,” he muttered.  “Let them know what happened.”

 

…..

_Bellevue Hospital_

Detective Mike Logan sat in the waiting room, along with Ed Green, waiting for someone to come out and tell them how Jack McCoy was doing.

Yes, Jack McCoy was a friend, but there was more to this than that.

_He might have witnessed what happened to that…other guy._

But finding Jack…like that…had put Logan in mind of another time he’d found Jack McCoy in a badly battered state.

_Skyland Mountain.  He could have been killed then.  Practically everyone else was…_

“Detective Logan?” the man’s voice brought him back to now.

“Dr. Liam Kennedy,” the man said.  “Mr. McCoy is going to be fine, I think.”

“Is he awake?”

“Uh…”

“Look, doc, there was a murder.  We think Jack may have witnessed it.  So, is he awake or not?”

“In the technical sense of the word…yes.”

“In the technical sense?  Doc, either you’re awake, or you’re not, so which is it?”

Kennedy sighed.

“He’s awake, but…” he sighed again.  “We had to give him some heavy pain-killers, and this is on top of the meds he currently takes.”

“So…he’s…what?”

“He’s higher than a kite.  You want to talk to him?  Fine.  Just bear in mind that the world he’s in right now might not be the same one _we’re_ in.”

“ _Okaay…”_

Logan had interviewed stoned interviewees before.

_More fun than a barrel full of monkeys…_

The hospital bed had been curtained off for privacy, and Jack McCoy…

The right side of his face was already beginning to turn all the colors of the rainbow.  But he was smiling when he saw his visitors.

“Hey, buddy,” Logan had to smile back as he pulled a chair up and sat.  “How are you feeling?”

“Everything’s… _blue_ ,” McCoy sighed.

“Blue…well…That’s nice.  Jack, I need to ask you some questions about what happened.  You up to that?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, Jack…What happened?”

McCoy frowned, slowly began to speak.

 

…..

“Today was my first day,” he said.  I was picking up the trash…”

He paused.

“I never realized until today.  But people are _swine_.  The trash cans are right there, but they can’t even be arsed to walk just two feet over...”

He heard Logan’s chuckle.

“Stay on track, buddy.  What happened?”

“Yeah…Was picking the trash up when I heard something to my left.  And, suddenly, there was this funny-looking guy, and he was frightened…”

_The man looks to be in his thirties, or thereabouts, he’s short and squat, just a touch over four feet tall, and McCoy thinks…_

**_A Neanderthal…a Neanderthal in Manhattan?_ **

_The man grabs McCoy by the shoulder, says something in a language McCoy doesn’t understand.  But the fear is plain enough to see.  So, he grabs the man by the wrist, seeks a cop on a horse…_

_Then, there’s a weird…flare of light, and a man appears out of nowhere, body haloed by this light, and he’s riding a stag, a…sword in his hand that shines with a copper-bronze sheen…_

…..

Mike Logan listened to the tale, and all he could do was shake his head.

“A guy on a stag?”

“Yeah…” McCoy nodded slightly, wincing as he did.  “Biggest stag I’ve ever seen…Might have been a moose though…and the guy…he was wearing this fancy-looking armor.  Looked like some sort of chain mail, like in the movies.  And he had a crown on his head.”

“Apart from that, what did he look like?”

“White-blond hair, and pointed ears…I think.  But I didn’t get much chance to see.  He was right on top of me before I could do anything.  Mike…the other guy…”

“He’s dead, Jack.  Did the other guy carry a bow?”

McCoy shook his head, again, wincing with the movement.

“Don’t know,” he closed his eyes.  “You going to catch the guy?”

Logan sat there, by McCoy’s side.

“We’re certainly going to _try_ …”

 

…..

_Morgue_

Dr. Elizabeth Rodgers had an unexpected surprise waiting for her.  Actually, there was more than one surprise waiting for her.

First, of course, there was the presence of a bona fide Neanderthal lying on one of the slabs in her morgue. 

Then, there was the presence of _three_ FBI Agents, all three congregated around the body on the slab, as if it was the answer to all the secrets of the universe.

_When anyone with brains can tell you the answer is forty-two…_

Agent Dana Scully, noticeably pregnant, was carefully examining the body, Agent John Doggett by her side.  The third FBI Agent was carefully examining the arrow that had been used to kill the victim.

Monica Reyes was almost ecstatic.

“Arrows of this type have only ever been found in barrows in the Old Country…”

“Old Country?” Rodgers raised an eyebrow.

“Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and Brittany…” Reyes looked down at the arrow in her gloved hands.  “There are legends about the Sidhe, and their Great Hunts, how they would hunt the peasantry…”

“The…Sidhe?”

“Yes,” Reyes nodded, put the arrow back on the table.  “Later stories made them out to be mostly benevolent, or harmless pixies or fairy folk.  But in the oldest tales, they could be quite evil; Banshees, for example.”

Rodgers regarded her severely.

“You’re not trying to tell me _this_ was the work of a…fairy?”

“Our stories and fables have reduced them, made them into fairies and pixies.  But they weren’t that at all.  Some of them were great and terrible, more like Tolkien’s High Elves.  And some of them were… _Evil.”_

“And that’s not the biggest question,” Scully finally spoke up.  “Which is, of course, how did a Neanderthal make it all the way to Manhattan?”

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 27th and the FBI join together to solve the murder

“Jack!” Adam Schiff walked into the Visitors Room at the Halfway House.  “When did you forget how to duck?”

Jack McCoy flushed at Schiff’s gentle scolding. 

The Attack at the Park had happened four days ago.  Drs. Kennedy and Skoda were in agreement.  Jack wasn’t allowed to go back to work until a week had passed.

_We want to make certain you’re all right, Jack,_ Skoda had explained.  _You were concussed, and head wounds can be tricky things…_

So, here Jack was, with nothing to do until Skoda said he was well enough to continue his Community Service.

_Thank God for Adam and Claire…_

Claire Kincaid had picked him up from the hospital the day before, driven him to the house, and now Adam was here, chess kit in hand.

Neither was very good at the game, but it passed the time, and Jack treasured the time he was able to spend with the man who had once been his boss.

Before everything had gone to hell…

“”You look like you’ve gone a few rounds with Marciano,” Schiff chided him gently.

“I was lucky,” McCoy smiled as he helped Schiff set up the chess board. 

It could have been worse…

Liz Rodgers had visited him, showed him the skull x-rays that had been taken when he had been brought to the hospital.

_It almost looks like you were struck with the flat of a blade, like a sword,_ she had said. _If the angle had been slightly different, he could have sliced the top of your skull right off…_

That little snippet of information had left McCoy feeling rather shaky.

_Talk about a close shave…_

 

…..

Lieutenant Anita Van Buren was having trouble processing what the FBI Agents-Monica Reyes, in particular-were telling her.

“Elves…” she regarded Reyes severely.  “Running amok in Manhattan, and killing defenseless…Neanderthals?”

“Now…We don’t know _what_ the victim is,” John Doggett hastened to reassure Van Buren.  “And we won’t know until the DNA scan comes in.”

“Besides,” the ever-scientific Dana Scully put in.  “The subject in question is far more likely to be an atypical specimen of H. Sapiens.  The Neanderthals died out hundreds of thousands of years ago.  It’s the killer we need to find; and the witness’s account was far from satisfactory.”

“Give Jack a fuckin’ break!” Mike Logan spoke up from the other side of Van Buren’s office.

“Guy was concussed, and on all sorts of meds, both psychotropic and pain killers, so he was out of his head just a little when we talked to him.”

Van Buren’s phone rang, and she picked it up, leveling a stern glare at the FBI Agents.

“Van Buren speaking.”

“Lieu?” Detective Ed Green.  “We’ve got another Central Park killing, and…it’s just like the other killing.  Killed by an arrow, and…it’s another one of those…Neanderthals.”

 

…..

_Shit…_

Detective Mike Logan looked down at the body, at the arrow protruding from its chest.

_Shot in the back, just like the first guy…_

Its hair was red instead of blond, and it looked to be a little older than the first.

“We have ourselves a serial killer,” Van Buren announced calmly.  “And a…specialized one at that.”

“Yeah, but…” Green looked down at the victim.  “Where are these guys coming from?  One troglodyte might be the result of a birth defect.  But two?”

“I’ll want access to the Morgue and its labs,” Agent Scully spoke firmly.  “Science will provide answers to this.”

“An answer to Elves running amok in Manhattan and killing Neanderthals?”

Mike Logan shook his head.

Somehow he knew he wouldn’t like the answers this woman might find.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hunter pays a visit...

_Central Park_

_7 AM_

Jack McCoy was down at the park, helping the Park Employees maintain the grounds. This time, it didn't involve picking up trash.

There was this lovely little garden spot, and the Director of the park thought it looked a little…naked.

So, here Jack McCoy was, turning the soil so Maintenance could plant a small bed of flowers.

Except for the one man sitting quietly on the wooden bench, nobody else was there, Maintenance off to see to other areas of the park.

McCoy was effectively alone. Not that he felt all that much in danger. He knew who the man sitting on the bench was; and, insofar as he trusted anyone, he trusted Detective Mike Logan.

However, Mike Logan wasn't here to keep an eye on him.

_He's here just in case_ _**The Hunter** _ _turns up again…_

Jack McCoy was fairly sure _The Hunter_ would put in an appearance again.

McCoy did feel a touch nervous about working in this particular section of Central Park.

This was where both murders had occurred.

_Neanderthals…_

The genetic studies carried out on both victims had confirmed that both specimens were, indeed, Neanderthals.

_The first one spoke to me, asked me to help him…_

McCoy hadn't understood the language, but the man's terror needed no translator.

Using the heavy iron shovel, McCoy continued to turn the soil. Then, a flare of light, off to his right, made him stop.

A man, short and squat, with wild blondish hair, clad in dirty leather, running up…

McCoy dropped his iron shovel, moved to intercept; aware of Mike Logan standing now, ready to do the same, speaking into a communicator.

…..

"We've got a guy here," Detective Mike Logan spoke into his communicator. "Looks like one of those troglodyte guys in the morgue."

He saw Jack McCoy up ahead, moving to intercept the man, and cursed under his breath. Jack McCoy wasn't exactly a civilian.

Before everything went to hell, he had been the Executive Assistant DA, and a damn good prosecutor.

He understood how cops worked.

But…that was _then…_

 _Now_ …

Now, Jack McCoy was serving Community Service for having been partly responsible for faking his own death.

Now, he was Dr. Skoda's patient, a man suffering from mental illness; and seeing Jack McCoy _here_ , in a place where this unknown bowman was killing… _men suffering from major birth defects?_...only served to remind Logan of what happened at Skyland Mountain, of how fragile McCoy had been after that…

The…Neanderthal…had run up to McCoy, who was doing his best to steer him in Logan's direction, and glancing about warily, as if he expected the killer to turn up any moment now.

There was another flare. Now something else was in the area, and Logan felt his jaw drop.

Biggest damn stag he had ever seen, and a rider atop it, holding the reins in one hand, the freakiest-looking longbow in the other.

_No one's gonna believe this…_

"Police! Freeze!" he drew his gun, and the creature turned its head to regard him.

Long, silver-white hair and pointed ears.

_Fuck me, Jack didn't hallucinate this._

Urging its mount into a canter, the…Elven creature…aimed its bow right at him.

Logan fired, bullets hitting the stag.

The other guy rolled free as his mount went down. Now, he stood, unsheathing his sword, yelling what sounded like curses, if only Logan had understood the language.

If asked, the most Logan could have said was that it sounded vaguely Celtic.

But he didn't have any time to wonder what the man was saying. He was charging, sword ready.

So, Logan fired again, bullets striking center mass…

He didn't even stagger.

_Oh…shit._

Logan charged too, hitting the other man low.

He'd played football in college, and still knew how to take a guy down that way.

Both went down in a tangle of limbs, but the…Elf…was quick, got to his feet first, and he still had his sword.

Logan looked up at the man. He had white hair, and golden eyes, pupils closed to slits, like a cat's eye.

The man snarled something at him, raising his sword.

But Logan saw Jack McCoy creeping up behind, heavy iron shovel in his hands.

The man must have heard, began to turn, but it was too late.

McCoy swung, obviously putting all of his strength into it, and the shovel connected, with a sickening crunch, with the side of the man's head.

The sword slipped from the man's grasp, and he staggered forward a few steps. Then he collapsed into a crumpled heap on the floor.

McCoy dropped the shovel, moved up to the body.

"Keep back," Logan slowly hauled himself to his feet. "Could be shamming."

McCoy nodded, stepped back a couple of paces.

Sighing, Logan bent, picked up the sword, and slowly walked up to the body. He nudged it slightly with his foot.

No response.

Then, he turned the body over.

The face was rotting away right in front of his eyes, the skin on the side of his head impacted by the shovel sloughing off, what looked like brains boiling out of the man's eyes, ears, nose and mouth.

Logan staggered away, retching at the sight.

"Mikey!" that sounded like John Doggett. "You get him?"

"Jack McCoy did," Logan wiped his mouth, forced the bile down.

"Holy fuck…" Doggett looked down at the rapidly decomposing corpse.

Less than three minutes later, only bones were left, and even those were beginning to turn to dust.

"What the fuck did you hit him with?" Doggett turned to McCoy.

…..

Jack McCoy watched the creature dissolve into dust right in front of his eyes.

_Like Dracula in all those horror movies…_

He'd never expected to see that with his own eyes.

"What the fuck did you hit him with?"

"The shovel," McCoy pointed to it. "He was going to kill Mike Logan."

"Yeah," Logan spoke up. "McCoy saved my life."

"Where's the other guy?" now Logan remembered the Neanderthal.

"He ran," McCoy hung his head. "I've never seen anyone run that fast before. I lost him, so I came back. Just as well that I did…"

"Yeah…" Logan nodded, and Jack McCoy felt a thrill of relief shiver down his spine.

_If he had killed Mike…_

McCoy shivered again.

Doggett's partner, Agent Monica Reyes turned up; saw the bones crumbling away into dust; saw the iron shovel.

"You hit him with this?" Reyes asked.

"Yeah…"

"The legends and myths must be right after all," Reyes bent to examine what was left of the bones.

"Elves and pixies are always described as being vulnerable to cold iron," she said. "And that's exactly what you hit him with."

"Good luck proving that," McCoy watched as the last bits of bone shivered off into dust and scattered in the breeze.

…..

Logan, staring down at the site, had to agree.

_I saw a man with white hair, golden cat's eyes, and pointed ears, die, and decompose in less than five minutes. He's dust in the wind now, and no one's gonna believe me if I tell them what I saw._

He watched as McCoy picked up the shovel, and headed back to work.

_Why not? We don't have a body, so we can't investigate._

"You okay, Mikey?"

"Yeah, John," Logan hefted the sword.

"Oh! Let me look!" Reyes stepped forward. "You took it from him?"

"Yeah…" Logan pointed. "His stag is over there, and his bow and arrows too. Looks like the Neanderthal got away though."

Logan looked back at McCoy. He had gone back to work, turning the soil for later planting.

Then, he looked down at the sword in his hand.

_Maybe I'm the crazy one…_

…..

_Report: Typed by Senior FBI Agent John Doggett._

_One week has passed since the apparent death of_ _**The Hunter** _ _. There have been no more bow killings, so it is assumed there will be no more incidents of this kind in Manhattan._

_The first two bodies have been sent to a lab for extensive genetic testing, in an attempt to tease out their origins._

_The third Neanderthal, if he indeed exists, has not been found. Dr. Dana Scully believes that he may have found his way into the wilds. From there, his ultimate fate remains a mystery._


End file.
